


An Illusion Of Peace

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Mockingjay Spoilers, Pre-Epilogue Mockingjay, mentions and occurrence of PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5490911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss Everdeen cannot reconcile herself to life after the revolution, and her sister's death continues to adversely affect her life. Through confiding in Peeta and receiving advice from Haymitch, she just might be lucky enough to find a modicum of peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Illusion Of Peace

“Peace is just a bizarre stroke of luck, Peeta,” I say one afternoon while I watch him knead bread dough in the kitchen. “I mean, the outcome of the rebellion and my final act as the Mockingjay…” I sigh. “I was lucky when I shot Coin.”

“Katniss, what’re you talking about? You are the only person who could have taken—and made—that shot!” He dusts off his floury hands and sits down beside me on the couch where I’m crushing a pillow against my body.

“Yeah, but the only reason I understood the truth was because—because Snow talked to me.” My voice breaks for a moment, and I can’t go on. Peeta puts an arm around me and gives me a bracing squeeze before taking my hand.

“Sing the song,” he whispers. “C’mon, I think you need to hear it. It’ll help.” I shake my head and try to protest that I don’t know what he means, but Peeta is firm. He whistles the beginning, and I can’t help but sing:

“Deep in the meadow, under the willow  
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow  
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes  
And when again they open, the sun will rise.

Here it’s safe, here it’s warm  
Here the daisies guard you from every harm,  
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true;  
Here is the place where I love you.

Deep in the meadow, hidden far away  
A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray  
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay  
And when again it’s morning, they’ll wash away.

Here it’s safe, here it’s warm  
Here the daisies guard you from every harm,  
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true;  
Here is the place where I love you.”

Oddly enough, after the second chorus is done, I do feel a little calmer. Turning my face to his, I kiss Peeta on the cheek, enjoying the feeling of his warm arms around me.

“Thanks,” he says, surprised. “What was that for?”

“For being right,” I say. “You know what will calm me down without making me need to shoot something.” We both laugh. “Besides, the song is right. Here IS the place where I love you.” My boy with the bread grins rather shyly before he replies:

“You know, Katniss, I think that’s the first truly romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say. I’m impressed.” Throwing the pillow at him, I growl,

“Yeah; unfortunately, you seem to be rubbing off on me.” This comment makes Peeta chase me around the house for a few minutes, threatening to ‘rub off on me’ again, but our romp is cut short when Haymitch strolls in the door.

“Heeey folks,” he drawls tipsily. “I seem to be interrupting something.” Winking at us, Haymitch slumps in a kitchen chair and waves his hand at us. “Continue your chase, by all means.” I scowl.

“Make yourself at home, like you always do, Haymitch.” I mutter sardonically. Immediately, his presence irks me. Peeta sits at the table across from him. 

“Why thank you, Katniss, I will!” Our ex-mentor smirks. I really, really want to punch him in the face. Quickly, Peeta tries to lessen the tension by saying,

“So how are you, Haymitch? Anything new happen that we should know about? Have they found a permanent leader yet? Can the refugees return to their districts?”

“Whoa, slow down, boy. Damn, you’re an eager one. That at least hasn’t changed.” Raising his voice because I’ve moved to the opposite side of the room and am reaching for my quiver because I DON’T WANT to hear ANY OF THIS BULLSHIT AGAIN, Haymitch adds, “How about you, sweetheart? You need to know—” I slam my hand down on the table next to the door that holds my arrows and my bow.

“No, I DON’T need to know! I refuse to play games anymore!! I’m going to check on my snares,” I tell Peeta. He nods, his concerned eyes lingering on me as I stalk past Haymitch and grab my father’s hunting jacket from the peg where it hangs.

“Touchy, isn’t she? Still the same old Katniss,” I hear before the door slams, cutting of their voices completely. I don’t hear Peeta’s reply, but it’s probably something along the lines of:

‘I’ve learned not to push her, but she knows that if she ever wants to talk, I’m here.’ Like he was today before Haymitch came in, when I confessed my doubts about peace. He won’t say all that to Haymitch, of that I’m certain. So why am I so furious? I’ve reached the edge of the meadow and stop to ponder for a moment. It’s the way he saunters in, scrambling our fragile lives, and acting like he and Peeta are still somehow buddies after everything that’s happened to us. I can’t stand it.

Getting to the treeline, I string my bow and search out something to shoot on the way to the snares. With any luck, I can bag something big in case Haymitch stays for dinner. He usually does, unless we have no booze in the house. Peeta is normally nice enough to locate some. Me, however, I try to forget without it—the last time I tasted alcohol was on the evening I heard about us going into the Quarter Quell—but that’s proving to be impossible. Every other night I wake sweating and screaming from nightmares. Peeta eventually calms me down, but I need to find something else. Like his bread or his paint. Something more reliable than Haymitch’s drink. That’s the reason I detest Haymitch so much—he scares me. I don’t want to end up like that. 

Suddenly I spot movement. There it is—a deer! Nocking an arrow into my bow, I sight along its shaft . . . and for no reason, absolutely no reason at all, my mind goes to Prim. She’d probably cry if I shot this doe, no matter how hungry we were. Then, naturally, she’d ask me to patch it up . . . the arrow slips from my numbing fingers. I don’t pick it back up; I just sink to the ground beside it.

I have forgotten all about the snares.

***

A while later (I’m unsure of the passage of time) I hear loud crunching footfalls coming towards me, and nearly smile. No one else walks on fallen leaves like that. A minute later, I see Peeta’s dear, anxious face peering down at me. To my great surprise, Haymitch is there too.

“I see you haven’t even checked the first snare,” Haymitch starts in on me immediately. “You’re losing your touch, sweetheart. Do you know how easy it was for us to find you?” I haven’t got enough energy to hit him, but

“Shut up, Haymitch!” I hear Peeta snap. I turn my face, which feels icy cold, towards him.

“Peeta, I saw—I thought . . .” my voice breaks, but he understands what happened anyway. Kneeling down, he puts his arms around me and lifts me up against his chest. I close my eyes tight and nestle as close to him as possible, burying my face into his jacket, under which his apron is still tied.

“Katniss, you’re freezing! C’mon now, let’s get you home.” Peeta carries me tenderly and tells Haymitch to get a fire going as the baker boy enters the house and places me on the couch. He removes my boots in order to massage my feet.

“Peeta,” I whisper. “I thought of Prim. That’s—that’s why we don’t have fresh meat tonight. I’m sorry.” I close my eyes and clench my teeth, hating this, hating myself for being so weak, for not even having the ability to hunt; the one thing I KNOW I can do.

“No, Katniss, don’t be sorry—I’ll just wash some berries and we can eat the bread I baked too. I was just worried about you! You were gone for the entire afternoon.”

“I just froze,” I tell him quietly. “On my way to the first snare I saw a doe and had it in my sights when I suddenly thought of what s-she would say. First she’d get all teary and beg me not to shoot. And if I did anyway, she would say that she could patch it up if we got home quickly enough . . .” Sobs begin wracking my body. “I miss you so much, Prim. So so much.” As I sink off of the couch and onto the floor in anguish, Peeta wraps his warm, strong baker’s arms around me and Haymitch slowly backs out of the room. “What can I DO, Peeta?!” I wail. “Please, just help me figure out what to do! I can’t take this madness anymore!!!”

“Shh, Katniss, it’ll be okay. I’ll help you, I promise. You can get through this, girl on fire. And you will.” He gently yet firmly strokes my hair, and the repetitive motions relax me and lull me to sleep. My outing made me exhausted.

Waking up in the bedroom some time later, I hear Haymitch and Peeta talking in the parlor.

“How often does she go through this?” asks Haymitch.

“It depends. Sometimes once every day, sometimes once every hour. Doctor Aurelius doesn’t help her.” Peeta replies.

“Well, I believe she has to call him in order to be helped.” Haymitch remarks snidely. I grit my teeth.

“Don’t assume, Haymitch. Katniss HAS called him.” Peeta is cold and firm. Now Haymitch’s voice drops; it seems almost as if he’s worried about me.

“And she hasn’t been able to distract herself at all?”

“She tries, Haymitch. Sometimes Katniss goes whole DAYS without remembering; while other times . . .” Peeta pauses. “Other times she tells me that she can’t escape the arena. I do my best to help her, but it kills me to see her frozen like she was today. It must be my painting, or maybe the hijacking—but I don’t have as many nightmares anymore. That’s why it’s even more horrible for her . . .” his voice trails off in despair and I hate myself for causing my boy with the bread so much worry and empathetic pain.

Meanwhile, Haymitch is clearing his throat loudly.

“Do things with her, Peeta. Let her teach you to shoot a bow and arrow. Teach her to bake. Sing with her. It’s those things . . .” pause “. . . they can make all the difference. If I’d had somebody to be with all those years ago, I might’ve turned out different now. Well.” he sniffs and I hear him guzzling booze and can’t help smiling. The door closes as our former mentor leaves.

“Hey,” Peeta says to me as he enters my room. “You hear any of that?” He sits down on the bed.

“Some of it.” I grin and scoot over to Peeta, taking his hand. “Looks like he’s not quite done with us yet.”

“I guess not,” Peeta sighs and squeezes my fingers. “Still, this might be good for him. Turn him into a responsible human being.” There is a moment of silence before both of us break up laughing. We sit there talking for a while, and on this night I don’t have any bad dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Suzanne Collins for writing these characters with whom I was able to connect despite having no personal reference or connection to the horrors they went through.
> 
> I included the lyrics to "The Meadow Song" from The Hunger Games in this little story. Thank you to Suzanne Collins for creating such haunting lyrics.


End file.
